July 19, 2017

The latest addition to the Sandefur art collection

I’ve been spending the last month falling madly in love with the sculptor Edward McCartan, and was delighted to get yesterday my copy of his 1923 sculpture Diana.

Here’s the original. Aside from the beauty and elegance of the representation, what gives this sculpture its dynamism and meaning is the marvelous flow between the wolfhound and Diana’s restraint of him. To me, this sculpture magnificently expresses the essence of femininity. In the original myth, Diana dispatched her hunting dogs to kill Actaeon after he accidentally saw her nude at her bath. Here. the ravenous animal lunges for a chance to devour—he's pure id—but she restrains him with nothing more than a tiny leash, in just the way that a confident and sexy woman can, with sometimes the tiniest gesture, simultaneously provoke and enforce respect. Notice the way she holds the bow back with her left hand, not flung out—which might indicate a loss of control—but firm and disciplined, just enough to help her lean back against the animal. And that glorious left leg, striding forward, but only touching her toes to the ground, bold but delicate; utterly precise. In an age that decries “the male gaze,” this is a supremely politically incorrect work of art: it is entirely about what a woman represents to a man. Yet Diana is not a victim or a plaything in the least—on the contrary, she is a bold, self-possessed woman (a goddess, of course) and supremely unafraid. She is the one who holds the power, and she damn well knows it.

McCartan is little known today—I had not known of him until recently—but he was a genius at capturing femininity at its most compelling. Another masterpiece is Nymph and Satyr (1920)—a magnificent commentary on the negotiation of male and female.

Put aside the technical excellence (those shoulders!), and notice how the satyr is sneaking his left hand around to reach the fruit she holds. He’s smiling, no doubt saying something clever and calculated. But she is no fool—she’s looking him straight in the eye, and she is not going to give him her fruit unless she gets what she wants in return. She likes his attention, but she is not going to only play on his terms. And if there were any doubt what this sculpture means, note the diagonals: the satyr's leg and chest align perfectly with her groin on one side, and their arms with the other, intersecting at her delta, which is the very center of the sculpture. This is the sexiest work of art—and I mean that in a serious, spiritual sense—that I’ve seen in a long time.

And then there’s this: Girl Drinking from A Shell (1915) (sometimes called Nymph Drinking from a Shell).

Once again, the pose is light and alive, the balance believable yet ideal. Here is a girl on the brink of womanhood, strikingly symbolized by her just beginning to take a drink. But she is no naif, and certainly not a victim. The best part of this piece is her face—serious, prepared, and, again, unafraid. McCartan is said to have been an admirer of Houdon, and you can tell from this face.

One source I read claims McCartan was also an admirer of Rodin, but that Rodin had little artistic influence on him except for a sculpture of a mother kissing her child, but I was only able to find one crude photo of it. It looks great, but I can only imagine how lovely the real thing must be.

Edward McCartan’s best known work is the pediment over the doors of the Helmsley Building in Manhattan (model for the Taggart Transcontinental Building for you Atlas Shrugged fans). And he did a few other monumental pieces. But his sculptures of women—many of which depict Diana—are breathtaking in their beauty, their poise, their confidence, and their humanity.